


Candlelight On Tapestry

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Halls of Mandos, Old Age, Reunions, Tapestry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 22:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Halls of Mandos, Aegnor spends his time staring into memories and dreams, until he's shaken out of them by an unexpected meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candlelight On Tapestry

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the Legendarium Ladies April prompt 'reunion' from April 1.

The Halls of Mandos were grey and cold after the fire of life. They were the halls of the dead, both of Elves and Men - though for Men, their stay was brief, and then they went on, to realms unknown. 

Still though, within the Halls, one could move about if they pleased, talk to others, look at the tapestries that lined the walls, Vaire's weaving, and Miriel's, telling the stories of all that passed in the lands. 

Aegnor stood silent before one particular tapestry, as was his way, that showed _her_ face, wiser, older now: Andreth Saelind, Wise-Woman of her people. Thought and knowledge was reflected in her eyes, which seemed as if they burned through the cloth on the wall right into his own. 

Death was new to him, but missing her was not, and his only wish was to stand right in this spot for the rest of Arda itself, longing for what could never be, for what never could have been. 

It was only one presence which could have swayed him from that spot. He turned, and there she was, approaching him, the same eyes in an even older face, skin paper-thin and wrinkled, long white hair tumbling down her back. She wore a white garment and carried a candle, as if to light her way in those grey halls, and she looked up at him, setting her mouth in a thin straight line. 

"I thought I might find you here," she said, and her voice, though changed in so many ways, was still the voice that he remembered and loved, the voice that had haunted him all these years, that he was struck by it, and could not speak or move. "What do you think you are doing?" 

Her voice was controlled as she asked the question but there was anger in it, and for the life of him, he did not understand why. He backed away a little, hands flying up. "Remembering," he said. "For that is all that is left to me now, without you." 

"I suppose you think that's very romantic," she said, moving closer to him. "But I say to you now, how dare you."

"How dare I?" Aegnor whispered, confused. "What else can I do? Our fates are sundered. Never in all of time shall we be together. What else do I have?" 

She laughed, and the laugh was mingled bitterness and merriment, such as he had never heard before. "What do you have, my lord? What do you have? What have you allowed to slip by you like sand through fingers, until that which once could have been is gone?" 

She set the candle aside, and approached him, and this time he did not back away, but took her outstretched hands in his own, bringing first one withered hand to his lips and then the other. 

"I am sorry," he began, tentatively. She looked up at him, and a softness came into her eyes. 

"Even now, we have too little time," she said. "But I have sought you out, before I go on, for a purpose." It seemed as though she breathed in, a long-drawn sigh. "I was told once that you would wait here, and not wish to return to life."

"I do not wish to return," Aegnor said. "The thought of a world without you in it chills my heart." 

She laughed, and this time the sound was purely merry. "You endured it for long years before I was in it, and felt no hurt," she said. Her face sobered, and the twist of her mouth revealed the bitter line her thoughts had taken her. "You spent all the days we could have had apart from me, and if that hurt you, you did not tell me of it." Grief passed over her face, and Aegnor saw the start of tears in her eyes. 

He fell to his knees, still holding her hands. "My heart grieves me that I caused you pain," he said. "If I could have left you in peace, I would have carried the wound in my heart away with me and bore it gladly, knowing that somewhere you smiled." 

Andreth sighed. "Truly our hearts are like and yet not," she said. "For though I have suffered by the love I have borne for you, it has made me think and question and understand so much. I have lived but one life, and it cannot now be changed. What is done is done." She released his hands, and bent, lifting his chin up. "Aegnor, I loved you as a girl, long ago. I loved you as a woman grown, hopelessly and bitterly. I loved you in my old age, constantly, steadfastly. And I love you now, and shall ever, no matter what shores I come to when this light goes out." 

She stepped back from him again where he remained on his knees, and took the candle into her hand. "But you, my love, you waste your time staring at a face, you waste it lost in memory of what can never be. If you love me truly, do not waste your days on this fair earth, for you too, one day will find that there is an end, however long the road. Go back into life, Aegnor. Live, for me."

Aegnor bowed his head. No words came to him, and when he looked up again, she still stood there, candle burning brightly in the greyness of that place, a look of love utterable on her face. 

"For thee, I will," he said at last, voice rough with unshed tears. "For thee, I will live." His hands came up to cover his face, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. 

She came to him, and carefully took his hands away. "Look at me," she whispered, and he did. She bent and kissed his lips, very tender, and he closed his eyes, overwhelmed. 

"May it be that one day thou and I shall meet again," she said, the words like a prayer. He opened his eyes to the sight of her face, calm and wise in the light of the candle. Then, very deliberately, she blew the candle out. All was dark about him, then. 

He rose to his feet. "Andreth?" he called, but even as he did, he knew that she was gone where he could not follow. 

He turned back to the tapestry again, but her pictured eyes no longer had the power to hold him there, in the face of her words. 

"To life, Andreth, to thee!" he said to the tapestry, and laughed.


End file.
